


Starstuff

by Kara_Dreamer



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Dates, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, F/F, First Dates, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, have I mentioned that there's a lot of awkwardness in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6738364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kara_Dreamer/pseuds/Kara_Dreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm sure that the world of Undertale fanfic abounds with Mettaton/Papyrus first date stories, so here's mine. Alphys and Undyne maneuver their friend Papyrus into asking his crush Mettaton out on a date. But Papyrus's dinner plans go horribly awry, and it's up to Mettaton to find another way of salvaging the evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Setup

“Almost done, Mettaton,” Alphys called out, pushing her round  _ pince nez _ further up the bridge of her muzzle and waving a paw in her friend’s direction. “Just want to run a few more diagnostic tests.”

“Well, thank the stars for that!” Mettaton was lounging against a nearby benchtop at Alphyne Laboratories, in the last stages of boredom, shifting his rectangular bulk from one arm to the other. “You know that I adore your work, Al, but watching you do it can be  _ dreadfully _ dull. Surely I’ve been sitting here for hours now.”

“Mettaton, it’s b-been forty-five minutes.”

“All the same.” He pushed himself away from the lab bench and rolled back and forth on his wheel. “I’ll be glad to get back into my proper body. Not that I haven’t a certain fondness and nostalgia for  _ this _ one,” he added, cycling his front panel lights through a range of colors and patterns, ending with a pink heart. “But I confess that, after several months of living with your glamorous  _ new _ creation, this older body now seems just a tad too...boxy?”

Alphys giggled as she opened up various service panels and applied test probes to various contacts. “Well, it  _ was _ kind of a p-proof of concept. And you g-gotta admit, audiences loved it!”

“ _ Monster _ audiences, Al. Now I am trying to woo human crowds and it seems that they  _ definitely _ prefer that my form have more...curves, shall we say?”

Alphys screwed down the last panel, beaming with satisfaction. “Everything ch-checks out, Mettaton! Now your Mettaton EX body can be charged d-directly off single-phase house current. Here, you’ll n-need to watch this.” Mettaton rolled close and watched as Alphys pressed a button on the body’s hip. A cord with a three-pronged plug began to unreel from a hidden compartment; pressing another button spooled the cord back up again. “Just unwind it and p-plug it into any standard wall socket.”

“Oh, Alphys, thank you! You’re a superstar. What’s the battery life now?”

“A b-bit better than before. You should get about eight hours if y-you’re not doing anything too, um, vigorous.”

“Why Al, dear, when do I ever do anything that  _ isn’t _ vigorous.” He displayed a smiley face on his panel lights. “I’m ready for transplant. Open me up, doctor…” Mettaton made a show of collapsing to the laboratory floor onto his back, waving his arms feebly toward Alphys. “...I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out. Don’t trouble yourself with anesthesia, doctor, I’m not afraid of the pain…”

Alphys giggled uncontrollably. “You’re such a diva, Mettaton. You kn-know it doesn’t hurt.”

“No, but I’ve come to enjoy making you laugh, Al.” Mettaton shed his jaunty mood for a moment. “It’s one good thing I can do for you, after...well, everything.”

Alphys’s yellow cheeks flushed a deep pink. “W-why, thanks, Mettaton. That’s very n-nice of you. Okay, let’s get started.”

Twenty minutes later, Alphys had completed her work, carefully securing and wiring up into the upgraded Mettaton EX chassis the hardened alloy case that housed Mettaton’s ghostly quintessence. She backed away from the bench on which she had been working over the EX body. “W-well?” she asked, with a trace of nervousness. As many times as the diminutive scientist had worked on Mettaton’s hardware successfully, she still felt a stab of panic that maybe this was the one time she’d made a mistake.

Mettaton did nothing for a second, then he began twitching his hands, lifting up his arms and uttering incoherent moans. It took a moment for Alphys to catch on but she clapped her paws when she did.

“It’s alive, it’s alive, IT’S ALIVE!” she cried out.

“Indeed I am, Doctor! Alive, well, and  _ beautiful. _ ” Mettaton leapt from the table, executing a flip and landing squarely on his heels, tossing his long black hair and throwing his arms open as if to welcome the applause of a cheering crowd. The pink and black enameling on his body panels and the lustrous white metal of his face and arms gleamed brightly under the laboratory lights. “Exquisite, am I not?” he asked the room.

“NOT!” came the room’s answer, sharp and derisive. She who supplied the answer strode into the laboratory from the open rear door, a lean, energetic figure with blue scales, menacing teeth and a bundle of six 8’ two-by-fours carried effortlessly under each arm.

“Ah. Hello, Undyne,” said Mettaton, smirking. “As charming as ever.”

“You still owe me two pounds of grapes, metal-man.” Undyne carefully deposited the lumber against the wall of the lab, then sprinted towards Alphys with a huge grin on her face. In a moment she had scooped up the little lizard in her arms and planted a passionate kiss on her muzzle, growling with pleasure. “Rrrr,  _ missed _ you, Alphy!”

Alphys squealed in delight. “I missed you too Undyne!” she said, waggling her tail.

Undyne gestured her head toward the pile of two-by-fours. “Is that what you wanted sweetie?”

Alphys mentally counted the timbers. “Yes, that’s it! Thank you so m-much, Undyne, for going to the hardware store for me.” Suddenly she squinted and starting looking all around the lab. “Wait, wasn’t Papyrus driving you? Where is he?”

“Oh, Pappy had to go return Muffet’s delivery van. He’ll be back in a few minutes, I’m sure. Until then…” She planted another big kiss on Alphys’s snout and squeezed the lizard’s rump in both of her webbed hands. Alphys shrieked and giggled.

Mettaton threw an arm up, resting the back of his hand against his forehead and sighing histrionically. “Such a gauche display of unseemly cupidity. Where is the romance, the enchantment, the heartrending declaration of tender passions?”

“We’re plenty romantic!” retorted Undyne. “We just like to express it by grabbing each other’s asses and ripping all our clothes off every chance we get.”

“Oh dear, such appalling crudity! You should be thankful, my lovelies, that at least the monsters have  _ me _ to demonstrate to the human world that we are capable of style, delicacy, and class.”

“Dude,” said Undyne, “You host a show called  _ Cooking with a Killer Robot.” _

“Undyne! That is merely one of the  _ many _ strings in my artistic bow!”

“Hate it admit it, Alphy, but your stainless-steel pal does have a point.” Undyne gave her lover a last peck then returned her safely to the floor. “Remember that time we were, uh, starting to grope each other and then Papyrus accidentally came in on us? Poor Pappy, for a whole week afterward, every time he tried to talk to me he’d stutter and turn bright pink.”

“Papyrus, Papyrus,” Mettaton was saying to himself, meditatively rolling the word around on his tongue. “I should know that name....”

“Oh, you’ve seen him before!” said Alphys. “I don’t think I’ve ever p-properly introduced you, though. He’s the tall s-skinny skeleton, remember? Undyne’s friend? Drives a convertible?”

“Ah, yes...is he the one that’s always wearing a red scarf no matter the weather?”

Alphys nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one. Confidentially, Mettaton...he’s one of your b-biggest fans.”

Undyne cackled. “Fuhuhu, ‘biggest fan’ isn’t the word for it, Alphy! Pappy thinks that Mettaton’s sex on wheels.”

Mettaton demurely adjusted his hair. “A perceptive fellow then, this Papyrus. I should like to meet—”

“UNDYNE!” came a piercing yell from the open laboratory door. The owner of the voice came into the view, a lanky, gangly skeleton clad in denim shorts, a Home Depot T-shirt, a Home Depot baseball cap, and his customary red scarf thrown about his neck. “LOOK, I DECIDED TO PUT ON THE CLOTHES I GOT AT THE HARDWARE STORE!! DON’T I LOOK COOL IN THEM?” Then he noticed who else was in the room and stopped in his tracks, putting his gloved hands to his mouth. “Oh...wow…”

“Lookin’ great Pappy!” Undyne hollered back, smiling and waving. “Come closer, don’t just stand there!”

Papyrus did resume his advance into the room, but in halting steps, his eye-sockets wide with amazement. “Is that...are you really Mettaton? The star of stage and television?”

Mettaton smiled, resting a hand on his hip and fluttering his long lashes. “There is no other, only me.”

At this Papyrus rushed forward, eye-sockets glowing with pure adulation, grasping Mettaton’s hand in both of his own and shaking it up and down as though he were operating a pump handle, and pouring out a stream of semi-intelligible chatter. “Mettaton, wow, meeting you in person like this, you’re my favorite star, watch all your shows, I use so many MTT products, you’re even more handsome up close…”

“Boy, Alphy,” Undyne remarked sidelong to Alphys. “I don’t think I’ve  _ ever _ seen Pappy like this before. He hasn’t called himself ‘the great Papyrus’ even once yet.”

Mettaton overheard Undyne’s comment and chuckled. “Believe me, Undyne, it’s nothing I’m not used to. Thank you, Papyrus, it’s always a  _ tremendous _ pleasure to meet such an enthusiastic fan. You, ah, you can let go now…”

“Oh, sorry, Mettaton, I’m so sorry.” Papyrus blushed, disengaged himself and took his position at Undyne’s side, still gazing starry-eyed at his hero.

Mettaton looked at Alphys. “Are we done here, Al? Not that it hasn’t been fun but I  _ do _ need to be getting back to the set.”

Alphys nodded. “Yup, you’re all set, Mettaton. Oh, h-here’s your service kit.” She zipped up a small tool case fashioned from fuschia-pink leatherette and handed it to her friend. “You’ll c-call me if you have any problems, okay?”

“Al, dear, I’ll call you even if I don’t have any problems at all.” Mettaton blew her a kiss and Alphys held up her paw to catch it, blushing. Then he turned to Undyne and Papyrus. “A pleasure as always, Undyne—”

Undyne was elbowing Papyrus in the ribs and muttering something to him. Mettaton could distinguish the words, “...come  _ on _ Pappy, you’re gonna  _ blow  _ this, he’s about to leave…”

“Pardon me, am I interrupting something?” asked Mettaton.

Undyne held up a hand. “Give Pappy and me just  _ one _ moment here, Robotboy…” She muttered more words to her friend and Mettaton could hear, “...just  _ say _ it, Pappy, where’d all your  _ passion  _ go?”

“ExcusemeeveryoneIhavetousethebathroom!” Papyrus blurted out, turning tail and sprinting for the rear door of the lab.

“Ngahhh! For  _ fuck’s _ sake! PAPYRUS GET BACK HERE! Alphy, keep your friend here, WE’LL BE RIGHT BACK—” Undyne said, yelling the last few words over her shoulder as she dashed madly after the fleeing Papyrus.

“Al,” said Mettaton, regarding the scientist from beneath his dark lashes. “What was that?”

“Well, um…” Alphys batted her paws together nervously. “Uh, Undyne and I...s-sort of...when Papyrus told us, we just w-wanted to help…”

Mettaton laughed. “Oh, dear, oh, dear. You two ladies were trying to set your friend up with me, weren’t you?”

“M-maybe?”

“I admire your initiative, Al, but really! If I took the time to rendezvous with  _ every _ obsessive fan who says they adore everything I do, I’d have no free time left at all.”

“Papyrus isn’t like that!” Alphys blurted out. Mettaton stared at her, unused to intensity like this from his friend. “He’s not just some creepy f-fanboy! H-he’s...really kind and sweet. Can’t you give him a chance? P-please?”

“I don’t know, Al. I believe you, but...he’s a bit of a wide-eyed  _ naïf _ , isn’t he?” Mettaton stroked his cheek with his metal fingers. “You know I like at a least a  _ little _ sophistication.”

“I know, Mettaton.” Alphys came up to him, held his hands in her paws and looked up at him, eyes shining behind her  _ pince nez _ . “B-but it would mean the world to Papyrus if you j-just spent one evening with him.”

Mettaton sighed an electronic sigh. “All right, Al. I can’t say ‘no’ when you’re looking at me like that.”

“Thanks, Mettaton.”

At this moment Undyne burst back into the laboratory, dragging Papyrus with her by one hand. His Home Depot cap was askew and the red scarf was missing. “Sorry about that, folks!” she yelled. “Papyrus just forgot where the bathroom was, didn’t you, Pappy?” She tugged on Papyrus’s arm.

“Yes,” he squeaked.

“Now that you’ve freshened up, Pappy, haven’t you got something you want to say?” Undyne tugged on her friend’s arm again.

“Um, er…” Papyrus looked down, rubbing his skull with his free hand. “Mettaton...um...I think you’re really cool and...uh…” His cheekbones flushed hotly. “I think you’re really, um, attractive...I like you a lot, Mettaton, I mean, I  _ really _ like you...can I...uh...would you be willing to, um, hang out with me some time? Maybe, um, some evening…”

Mettaton delivered a good-natured laugh. “Why, Papyrus, I’m flattered! Of course, I’d be glad to spend an evening with you. The good doctor has been singing your praises. Contact me through social media…” He opened a panel in his right thigh and retrieved his phone. “Do you use Twitter?”

“Yes! I’m ‘CoolSkeleton95’ there.”

“Let me see...ah, there you are.” Mettaton tapped for a few seconds. “There, I’ve added you. DM me and we’ll set up a date.”

“Oh, wowie...thank you so much, Mettaton!” Papyrus looked as though he were about to rush headlong towards his idol with arms outstretched but Undyne restrained him with another elbow to the ribs. “Thank you, thank you, you’re so wonderful and generous…”

“That’s what they  _ all _ tell me,” Mettaton replied, darting a look at Alphys. “Now, however, I really  _ must _ be on my way. I will see you all again soon, my lovelies.” He batted an eye at Papyrus and strutted out of the lab, heels clicking smartly on the floor. When he was gone Undyne and Alphys looked at each other.

“I can’t believe that worked,” said Undyne.

Papyrus slid nervelessly to the floor in a heap of bones. Alphys gasped. Undyne leaned over the fallen skeleton. “Pappy, buddy...you okay?”

“Mettaton friended me on Twitter,” came Papyrus’s dreamy reply.


	2. The Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thank you, Mettaton,” said Papyrus, the most heartfelt of grins spreading over his face. ( _Argh! this would be easier if his smile wasn’t so damn adorable,_ Mettaton thought.) “Oh, I’m forgetting something…” Papyrus fished out his phone and spent a few moments tapping. “Yes! I must play romantic music!” ( _Oh, dear, he’s looking up online dating tips too…_ ) The skeleton went over to the entertainment center, connected his phone to external speakers, and tapped some more; a peppy electronic tune began to play that sounded oddly like an arrangement of a Russian folk dance. “No! Sorry! Wrong one!”

Mettaton looked up and down the street as he approached the front door of the wooden bungalow where, as Papyrus had earlier informed him, the skeleton lived with his older brother Sans. The bungalow was typical of the houses that the monsters were constructing themselves in Ebottsville as they established themselves on the Surface: small, simple, but hospitable. There was little to distinguish Papyrus’s house from any one of a half-dozen others in the town, but the presence of a garish red Mazda Miata with a tacky after-market trunk spoiler and a Jolly Roger bumper sticker instantly dispelled all doubt that Mettaton had come to the right place.

He adjusted the lapels of his magenta floor-length top coat—not strictly necessary, for the evening was mild and Mettaton’s body was impervious to weather anyway, but he simply doted on the style—and knocked on the door. No one answered for a minute, and Mettaton knocked again; finally the door opened.

“Why,  _ hello, _ darling, you’ve kept me waiting—” Mettaton began, but his opening patter ground to an abrupt halt when he saw that it wasn’t Papyrus who answered the door but another skeleton about half his height, chunky in build, wearing dark blue trackpants and a stained blue hoodie. He grinned up at Mettaton.

“You’re coming on awful strong considering we just met. Bet you say that to  _ all _ the skeletons.”

“Oh. Pardon me. You must be Papyrus’s brother Sans.”

“Pleased to meetcha.” Sans offered his hand and Mettaton grasped it, only to be greeted with the sour “blat” of a whoopie cushion. Mettaton winced; Sans laughed. “Always a classic,” he said.

“SAAANS!” screeched Papyrus, running up to the door. He was still wearing the Home Depot shirt partly protected with a much-splattered apron that also featured a Jolly Roger skull-and-crossbones, with the words “CAPTAIN COOK” printed underneath. “Mettaton is my guest and you  _ will _ behave around him! I’m so sorry about this, Mettaton…”

Mettaton forced a laugh. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Papyrus, I don’t mind the occasional practical joke. Will your brother be, ah, joining us tonight?”

“Don’t fret about it, Metty,” Sans replied. “My brother asked for privacy and I’m gonna give it to him. I’m headed over to Grillby’s.” He turned to Papyrus. “First, though, mind if I have a private word or two with your date first? Just the two of us?”

“Well, okay, Sans, if that’s what you want. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, bro.” Sans watched Papyrus retreat into the kitchen; when his brother was out of sight, Sans whipped around. His smile, though still broad, now carried a hint of menace. “Now listen, Metty. TV star or not, you’d better treat my little brother right. Even if you walk all over him he’ll never say a bad word about it but I’m not quite as forgiving. You understand?”

Mettaton backed up half a step. “Sans, believe me, I’m not here to ‘walk all over him’. I really do want to show Papyrus a good time, honestly.”

“You’d better not be kidding about this. ‘Cause if I get back home and find out that my brother got a hard time off you…” The light in his eye-sockets went out and a note of distant thunder entered his voice.  _ “You’re gonna get a hard time off me. _ Get it?”

“Y-yes. Perfectly, Sans.”

The light returned to Sans’s eye-sockets and his voice returns to its casual, sardonic norm. “That’s the only bone I have to pick with you for now, Metty. I’ll leave you two to your date. Hey, Papyrus!” he called out toward the kitchen. “Done with my chat, so I’m heading out. Call me or text me or whatever when you’re okay with me coming back, all right?”

“Of course, Sans, of course!” Papyrus ran back out of the kitchen, knelt in front of his brother and hugged him. Sans returned the embrace.

“I hope you have a good time, bro,” Sans said, his voice gentle.

“Thanks, Sans. You’re always looking out for your little brother, aren’t you?”

“Always.” Releasing Papyrus he shot a final glare at Mettaton. “Remember what I said, huh? I’ll be seeing you around, maybe.” With that parting shot he exited, shutting the door behind him.

Mettaton gave Papyrus a quizzical look. “Your brother can be rather...forcible, can’t he?”

“Sometimes!” Papyrus replied, his voice bright and cheery. “Mostly though he’s just silly and lazy. I mean, look at the state he leaves the house in!”

Mettaton looked around. The living room looked very neat and tidy to his eyes: the blue carpeting looked as though it had just been vacuumed, the green couch had gone threadbare in places but was otherwise spotless, and there wasn’t a hint of clutter anywhere. The only signs of anything that could be called remotely messy were an open bag of potato chips on the coffee-table and a cardboard box on a small table by the front door, a box overflowing and spilling over with mail. Papyrus snatched up the bag of chips. “It’s so embarrassing…” he lamented as he returned it to the kitchen, prompting Mettaton to smile to himself. When Papyrus reemerged from the kitchen, he stood there at the threshold for a long moment, gazing admiringly at Mettaton and unable for the moment to form words.

Mettaton treated Papyrus to his most fetching smile and a little wave. “Hi there,” he crooned, causing the skeleton to blush.

“Mettaton. Gosh...you look...incredible,” Papyrus stammered out. “That coat is gorgeous on you.”

“Mmm, it  _ is _ rather fetching, isn’t it?” Mettaton pivoted about on one heel, pirouetting with his arms held up like a figure skater in the middle of a spin, swirling the magenta coat about himself.

Papyrus gasped and clapped his hands together. “So graceful,” he breathed.

“I’m glad you like it,” Mettaton said. “But I suppose I should disrobe before dinner. Do you have some place I can stow this?”

“Oh! Yes, yes!” Papyrus rushed over to a small coat closet near the front door. “Please. Allow me, Mettaton.”

“Certainly!” Mettaton whipped off the coat off of his shoulders with a grand flourish, draped it over one arm, and with a gracious bow of his head he offered it to Papyrus. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

Papyrus hesitantly reached for the coat, reverently picking it up in his tremulous hands. “It’s soft…” he said.

“Ultrasuede,” said Mettaton, as Papyrus hung the top coat up with infinite care. “Now you can tell your brother and your friends that only five minutes into your very first date you already succeeded in stripping me of  _ all _ my clothes.”

“Oh wow...you’re... _ naked _ right now?” Papyrus covered his mouth with his hands. “Really?”

Mettaton chuckled. “Well, I suppose it depends on how you define ‘naked’ for me. There are a number of panels on my chassis that I can open up or remove if needed for certain... _ activities.  _ But what you now see before you, gloriously unclothed…” Mettaton twirled again, completing his maneuver by coming face to face with Papyrus and gesturing his hands downward from top to toe. “...Is  _ everything _ I was made with, and nothing more.”

Papyrus goggled at Mettaton, mouth open in a soundless “wowie”, but then abruptly he glanced down at his own body as if suddenly made aware of his food-splashed orange T-shirt and novelty apron. “Oh no,” he said, his voice distraught. “I must look like a complete mess to you!”

“Darling!” Mettaton held up a consoling hand. “You have  _ no _ reason to worry! After all, you are soiling yourself in the cause of fulfilling your promise of a home-cooked meal.” His eyes strayed over to the dining table in the corner, which had already been set for two, complete with candlesticks. “What  _ is _ on the menu tonight, may I ask?”

“I am treating you to something special tonight, Mettaton!” Papyrus grinned cheerily, his mood instantly revived. “Fettuccine alla carbonara from the kitchen of master chef Papyrus! And my brother provided me with a recipe for some sort of dessert quiche…”

“Ah! Sounds...interesting. When will it be ready?”

Papyrus looked nonplussed, then checked his phone for the time. Mettaton didn’t think it was possible but somehow the skeleton’s face grew paler. “I, um, let me check on that,” he got out, and then he dashed to the kitchen. Clattering noises floated out into the living room, along with the occasional inarticulate sound of dismay.

Mettaton permitted himself a quick worried frown before taking his seat at the dining table. There was little question was to which of the two seats was meant to be his. Somehow, Papyrus had acquired two sets of tableware that were identical except in color: one set was red, the other set was fuschia-pink. The napkins, too, were red and pink to match. As if this weren’t enough Papyrus had drawn up little place cards with their names on them, neatly lettered and ornamented: Papyrus’s card featured a cartoon skull-and-crossbones, while Mettaton’s card sported a pink heart.

“It will be ready soon,” cried Papyrus from the kitchen.

“Take as much time as you need, darling!” Mettaton called back. A slight noise from the direction of the front door caught his attention for a moment, a muffled scratching sound. After a couple of seconds Mettaton heard nothing more, so he shrugged and returned to waiting for his meal.

“Dinner is served!” Papyrus announced, as he came back out of the kitchen carrying aloft in one hand a serving-bowl filled with pasta and in the other hand a bowl of grated parmesan. He set both down in the center of the table and Mettaton looked narrowly at the bowl of pasta. The dish presented a somewhat discouraging aspect for something that was meant to be eaten: the fettuccine had separated poorly during cooking and the ribbons of pasta were everywhere stuck together in little bundles; the sauce had a lumpy, curdled look, and to Mettaton’s olfactory sensors there lurked a burnt smell underneath the smoky aroma of the bacon.

He looked up at Papyrus, who was smiling at Mettaton and at his creation with a slightly manic grin. “Looks good,” Mettaton said.

“May I serve you?” asked Papyrus, gesturing with a pasta fork.

“You may serve me,” Mettaton replied, and Papyrus transferred a generous helping of the fettuccine to Mettaton’s plate. The operation, unfortunately, did not improve the appearance of the pasta. Papyrus scooped some onto his own plate and got halfway through sitting down when he remembered that he was still dressed in his stained shirt and apron. He looked himself up and down then jumped away from his chair. “I—Please excuse me, Mettaton—” He ran out of the living room down a corridor, and Mettaton could hear an unseen door open and shut.

Mettaton poked a fork at his helping of fettuccine while he waited. The noodles hadn’t just stuck together; they were also overcooked and mushy. Then he looked up sharply from his plate, hearing again the scratching sound that seemed to be coming from the front door. Maybe there was a stray cat outside?

The unseen door creaked open again and shortly Papyrus came back into view. He’d discarded the apron and changed out of his Home Depot clothing into a creditable attempt at formal dress: blue dress shirt, black trousers, and a red tie. The shirt hung loosely and baggily indeed on Papyrus’s skeletal frame, however, and because his belt didn’t have a proper waist to go round the trousers looked to be in perpetual danger of falling down around his feet. Moreover, Papyrus had seen fit to add to his  _ ensemble _ a finishing touch: wound about his neck was the inevitable frayed, worn red scarf.

“Well  _ done _ darling,” Mettaton said, even though his mind had gone into overdrive imagining a hundred different ways that he could salvage Papyrus’s outfit, each and every one of those ways beginning with jettisoning the incongruous scarf.

“Thank you, Mettaton,” said Papyrus, the most heartfelt of grins spreading over his face.  _ (Argh! this would be easier if his smile wasn’t so damn adorable, _ Mettaton thought.) “Oh, I’m forgetting something…” Papyrus fished out his phone and spent a few moments tapping. “Yes! I must play romantic music!”  _ (Oh, dear, he’s looking up online dating tips too…) _ The skeleton went over to the entertainment center, connected his phone to external speakers, and tapped some more; a peppy electronic tune began to play that sounded oddly like an arrangement of a Russian folk dance. “No! Sorry! Wrong one!” More tapping, and then Joe Cocker’s arrangement of “Your Are So Beautiful.”

A shudder went down Mettaton’s spine at the first sound of Cocker’s voice. “No, please don’t—” he interjected, before he could stop himself.

Papyrus stopped the song and looked at Mettaton, his face falling. “You don’t like it? Many people have recommended this song as one of the most romantic.”

Mettaton sought refuge in equivocation. “Oh, no, Papyrus, you misunderstand me, darling. I just happen to prefer not listening to music while I’m dining.” It wasn’t quite true, but none of the music that Mettaton preferred would possibly fit Papyrus’s notion of a romantic playlist.

Papyrus seemed mollified. “Okay! Um...oh, I need to light the candles too.” He ran to the kitchen again and Mettaton heard multiple kitchen drawers opening and closing, and more dismayed sounds. Eventually he heard a relieved sigh; then Papyrus reappeared with a paper matchbook that said “GRILLBY’S” on it, with a picture of Grillby’s flaming head. “I don’t know why Sans brought this home,” Papyrus said as he tried and failed to strike a number of the matches. “He doesn’t smoke.” Finally Papyrus got one to stay burning, lit the candles with it, and turned off the overhead lighting. “Now we can enjoy our romantic dinner together, at last,” he said, sinking into his seat.

Mettaton looked at the empty glass that was part of his place-setting. “Do you have anything to drink, Papyrus?”

Papyrus’s eye-sockets snapped wide-open and he jumped from his seat. “Gosh...I...I think I forgot!” He rushed back to the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator and the cabinets. “I forgot to get a bottle of wine or anything like that! All I’ve got is…” He pulled from the refrigerator a glass bottle of a radioactive-yellow fluid. “...some kind of soda that Sans likes to drink.”

“Ah, not interested, I’m afraid,” said Mettaton. “Water will be fine, then. Put some ice in it, though, if you have any.”

Papyrus nodded, not saying a word as he retrieved the glasses from the table and got out an ice-cube tray. Mettaton’s heart sank at the expression on Papyrus’s face when he returned with the water. He was still managing to smile but Mettaton could tell that he was having trouble maintaining it. “Here you are, Mettaton,” said Papyrus as he put down his water-glass. “Again I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t apologize! I’m not especially devoted to the practice of drinking wine with a meal, in any case.” That was more or less true. Mettaton would sometimes make a show of sipping wine for his cooking show but he was not overfond of the smell and taste, and in any case his body was incapable of getting a buzz from the stuff. “Thank you for the water.”

“Thank you, Mettaton,” said Papyrus, with a somewhat more relaxed smile, as he resumed his seat.

Mettaton returned his attention to the pasta in front of him. The numerous interruptions had done no favors to the dish, which was now lukewarm as well as lumpy. He tried an experimental sample, trying to keep his face neutral. His olfaction had not been wrong: there was a definite taste of burnt bacon. The pasta had no “tooth” left to it at all, and the sauce had begun to separate into a greasy mixture of bacon-fat and curds of egg and cheese. Still Mettaton forced down a mouthful, then another. Papyrus on the other hand ate his own helping with alacrity; he was halfway through by the time Mettaton was on his third forkful. His eye-sockets were aimed downward and he offered no conversation.

“So, Papyrus,” said Mettaton, trying to change the mood, “I must say I’m  _ fascinated _ by your red scarf. I’ve rarely seen you without it. It must be one of your most treasured possessions.”

Papyrus looked up from his fettuccine at Mettaton, his smile natural now and unforced. “Yes, Mettaton, it is. My brother Sans gave it to me the first day that he let me come with him on his rounds as a sentry in Snowdin Forest.” There was a faraway glow in his eye-sockets. “Sans didn’t want me to come with him at first. He said I was too young, and the forest was too dangerous. But I begged him! I asked Sans, how was I get into the Royal Guard some day without learning what guard duty was like? So finally he said I could come with him and he gave me this, to protect me against the snow and the cold.” Papyrus chuckled a little. “I think my lazy brother just didn’t want me along because he’d always fall asleep and I’d always be waking him up again. But, Mettaton, it was one of the happiest days of my life, and I have this to remind me of it.” He ran his bony fingers over the well-worn fabric. “I guess it’s seen better days. Maybe I should just put it away.”

“No! Don’t do that, Papyrus. Not when you’re wearing it out of love for your family.” Mettaton lowered his gaze a little. “I haven’t always been the best at that…”

“Mettaton! Are you sad?” Papyrus’s eye-sockets were full of concern now. “Please, I didn’t want to make you sad, Mettaton!”

“Oh, it’s  _ fine, _ darling,” Mettaton replied, looking up and wearing, for Papyrus’s benefit, his brightest smile. “A mere shadow from the distant past, nothing more. Mettaton is looking  _ forward _ now!” He primped his hair. “There are new horizons, new stages on which to perform, new hearts to conquer!”

Papyrus blushed a little at those last words. “I think it’s just great, Mettaton, that you’re going to become an even bigger star now. All the humans are going to learn how…” He blushed more. “...How  _ wonderful _ you are.” Then his face fell again. “I wonder what I’m sort of future I’m going to have now. All I ever wanted to be, before we were free, was to be in the Royal Guard. I got to spend all those days with Undyne, training. But I never did get in, Mettaton. And now there  _ is _ no Royal Guard, and Undyne’s busy working with Alphys now…”

“What happened with the Royal Guard, Papyrus?” Mettaton asked.

“The human happened. Frisk happened. Nyeh heh heh…” The laugh faltered. “I kept training and training with Undyne but she kept telling me, ‘You’re not ready yet.’ I didn’t know what I was doing wrong. So I thought that, the next time a human came into the kingdom, if I was the one to capture them, Undyne would  _ have _ to let me into the Guard after that.” Papyrus rubbed a hand over his skull. “But then Frisk came, and I  _ wanted _ to do my duty, really I did, the way a real Guard would. Like Undyne would. But...they were just a child! I watched them play in the snow and make friends with other monsters and laugh when they solved my puzzles...I couldn’t do it, Mettaton. Oh, I tried. I confronted them and even tried to attack them, but I would keep panicking whenever they got injured and stop the fight. I couldn’t hurt someone who just wanted to be my friend…”

“I wish I could tell you the same,” whispered Mettaton.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that, Mettaton. What did you say?”

Mettaton could not answer. When it had been his turn to confront Frisk, he’d had no compunctions about killing them. And Mettaton had come very, very close. Into his mind flashed a vivid image from their battle: Frisk's diminutive body, small even for a child their age, sprawled limply on the ground after one of Mettaton’s kicks had sent them flying, blood pouring from multiple wounds, but somehow undefeated, somehow unyielding, somehow staggering back their feet to throw themselves back into the fray. Yet all that had passed through Mettaton’s mind at that moment was that he was creating great television...

“Mettaton?” Papyrus was staring at him. “Mettaton, you’ve gone really quiet.”

“Hm?” Mettaton snapped back into awareness. “I apologize, Papyrus, my mind was wandering for a moment.” Suddenly he glanced toward the kitchen and sniffed the air. “Papyrus darling, do I smell something burning?”

Papyrus leapt up from his seat in shock. “The quiche! I didn’t set a timer on the quiche!” He dashed into the kitchen. Mettaton heard the sounds of the oven door opening and of Papyrus crying out, “It’s ruined!”

Mettaton got up from his seat and went to the threshold of the kitchen, where he saw Papyrus kneeling on the floor in front of the oven. On the rack which he’d pulled out sat a glass pie plate that may at one time have held a meringue pie of some variety, but the meringue had gone from white through toasty brown all the way to charcoal. A sulfurous miasma of burnt egg wafted up from the ruined pie. Papyrus opened the kitchen window in an attempt to air out the room, then sank to the floor, holding his head in both his hands.

“Papyrus, darling, it’s all right—”

“It’s  _ not _ all right!” The skeleton leapt to his feet, arms flailing. “I wanted to give you a special night, Mettaton! I wanted this to be tender and romantic!”

“Papyrus, dear, I appreciate the effort—”

“Wait.” Papyrus held up a hand for silence. “What’s that noise?” Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, then they heard the noise again, a scratching and scrabbling noise coming from the living room, and then a muffled bark.

“No, not  _ now! _ ” With Mettaton in tow Papyrus ran out of the kitchen, looking wildly around the living room. From behind the coat closet door came the sound of more scratching. “The closet!” screeched Papyrus, flinging the door open. Out from the closet jumped a little white dog, wagging its tail and barking merrily. It ran to Papyrus’s feet and tried putting its paws up on his legs.

“YOU DETESTABLE CANINE!” Papyrus screamed. “I’LL GET YOU FOR THIS!” Papyrus made a lunge for the puppy but it streaked off in the direction of the kitchen and, before Papyrus could collect himself to give chase, the dog had leapt over the windowsill and disappeared.

“What did you do?!” cried Papyrus, looking into the closet. Mettaton looked over his shoulder and winced. His beautiful magenta top coat lay in a heap on the closet floor, covered in white hairs and spatters of drool where the dog had been nesting on it.

Papyrus stood frozen in place for many moments, staring at the fallen coat. Mettaton struggled to find words that might alleviate the situation. Before he could speak, however, Papyrus turned away. Without uttering a word, making a sound, or even glancing in Mettaton’s direction the skeleton walked out of the living room and down the corridor. The unseen door opened, then shut, and did not open again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a lot more difficult to write than I thought it would be. I've not really "dated" in this elaborate way, though I've tried to prepare dinners for visitors in the past, including people I was already involved with. Not quite the same, though, and I've never had _this_ shambolic an experience.


	3. The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mettaton, please, please don’t cry, I’m here for you—” Without thinking Papyrus reached for Mettaton’s hand, his bony fingers interlacing with the robot’s smooth metallic digits. Then he realized what he’d done and immediately pulled his hand away. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Mettaton, I shouldn’t have done that, I should’ve asked permission.”
> 
> “No, Papyrus, it’s fine! I...I liked it. You can hold my hand again if you want.”

Five minutes went by, then ten, with no further sound to be heard. Mettaton had thrown himself onto the green couch in the living room, which turned out to be lumpy and uncomfortable, to wait for Papyrus to exhibit some sign of life. He tried calling Papyrus’s phone but the call went straight to voicemail.

After ten minutes Mettaton got up from the couch. He turned toward the front door, considering what to do. He could just walk out. He’d done it before with dates that had turned out to be tiresome or unpleasant. In all likelihood Papyrus assumed the date was over anyway. There wasn’t anything holding Mettaton here.

No. He couldn’t do that to Papyrus. At the very least he owed the poor fellow a formal goodbye.

Mettaton walked into the corridor. The first door he encountered was plastered with stickers and signs, one of which read, “Only Papyrus Allowed!” He rapped gently and called out, “Papyrus? Are you all right in there?”

There was no answer. He knocked again and asked more loudly, “Papyrus? Are you in there?”

There was still no answer. “Papyrus,” Mettaton called out in a voice loud enough to carry down the entire corridor, “if you wish me to leave you alone and depart from your house, please say so. Otherwise I intend to stay until I know you’re all right.”

This time he heard a very weak, whimpering voice. “I’m sorry,” it said.

Mettaton tried the door, finding it unlatched. The room was dark, only a little light trickling in through the window from distant streetlamps, but it was enough for Mettaton’s sensitive eyes. (Alphys was  _ very _ good with eyes.) He barely took in the bedroom and its furnishings—bookcase, display cabinet, computer desk, a bed like a red racing car—because in the middle of the bedroom floor, huddled up on the carpet with his back to the door, was Papyrus.

“Oh, Papyrus,” said Mettaton. “You’ve done nothing to be sorry for. Why are you hiding?”

“I didn’t want you to see me cry,” Papyrus murmured. “I’ve already ruined everything else.”

“Papyrus, darling…”

The skeleton went on, voice barely under control. “I ruined your dinner, I ruined your dessert, I ruined your coat, I r-ruined your whole evening…” Papyrus began to cry again. “Look at me, I’m just making it worse now.”

Mettaton looked down at the abject figure of Papyrus, curled up on the floor with tears running down his cheekbones. A sudden resolve kindled in Mettaton’s heart: forthwith he lowered himself to the carpet next to Papyrus, stretching himself out on his back.

“Mind if I join you, Papyrus?” he asked.

“What?” Papyrus, surprised at Mettaton’s behavior, unfolded himself from his fetal position and also rolled onto his back. His eye-sockets were still wet from crying but his mood now was more baffled than grief-stricken. “Mettaton, what are you doing?”

Mettaton put his hands together on his chest plate, staring up at the ceiling. “Something I once did all the time,” he answered softly. “Years ago. When there wasn’t anyone else but myself and Blooky.”

“Blooky...you mean Napstablook the ghost? Your DJ?” Papyrus twisted his head toward Mettaton. “I didn’t have any idea you knew them that long.”

“I didn’t just  _ know _ Blooky, Papyrus. They’re my cousin. Once we were inseparable, and I promised I’d never leave them, the way everyone else in our family did. Then I broke my promise.” Mettaton sighed. “Papyrus...I’m not a very good person, really. You should know that, before you even think about getting any closer to me. I’ve hurt many people.”

“That’s impossible!” Papyrus spluttered. “You’ve been so kind and patient with me, Mettaton, putting up with me like you have tonight. I won’t believe you’re not a good person.”

Mettaton laughed without joy. “Maybe I’m finally learning a little, darling. But you don’t know all the things I’ve done. You don’t know what I tried to do to Frisk.” The stab of old shame was a painful one. “I came  _ this _ close to murdering them, Papyrus. That’s not something a good person does.”

“But Undyne tried to kill Frisk too. She’s a good person! She’s best friends with Frisk now!”

Mettaton shook his head. “You can’t excuse me that easily, Papyrus. Undyne wanted to kill Frisk because she burned with a passion to save her people. What did I want out of Frisk’s death? Ratings.”

Papyrus sighed. “So you almost did something bad...but in the end you didn’t, Mettaton! You did the right thing in the end. Frisk forgave you. I forgive you.”

But Mettaton went on as if he hadn’t heard Papyrus’s words. “And you don’t know how I abandoned Blooky and left them alone on the farm, crying their eyes out. I never told them where I’d gone or what I’d become. All because I didn’t want anything getting between me and stardom.” He sighed. “And then Alphys gave me a gorgeous body, gave me  _ everything  _ she promised and more, and how did I repay her? By making fun of her, making fun of everything she loved…” Mettaton’s voice grew uncertain, wavering. “I could have killed her, do you know that? I didn’t know how miserable she was, I had no idea and I don’t know if I’d have given a damn back then even if I  _ had _ known, I could have pushed her right over the edge—” To Papyrus’s shock Mettaton began to sob. The harsh, metallic noise of his sobbing stung Papyrus to tears again.

“Mettaton, please, please don’t cry, I’m here for you—” Without thinking Papyrus reached for Mettaton’s hand, his bony fingers interlacing with the robot’s smooth metallic digits. Then he realized what he’d done and immediately pulled his hand away. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Mettaton, I shouldn’t have done that, I should’ve asked permission.”

“No, Papyrus, it’s fine! I...I liked it. You can hold my hand again if you want.”

“Oh. Um...okay.” Papyrus shyly reached again for Mettaton’s hand, interweaving fingers again, squeezing gently. “Thank you, Mettaton.”

Calmness and warmth radiated through Mettaton’s body from the touch of Papyrus’s hand. “No, thank you, Papyrus. This is...nice. I feel better.”

The two of them laid there side by side for many minutes, holding hands, looking up at the ceiling, not feeling for the time being any need to talk. Papyrus eventually broke the silence.

“I must seem so boring to you, Mettaton. Your life has been so exciting, so glamorous, and everybody wants to know you. You have so many stories to tell. Talking to you...it reminds me that I haven’t done anything and I don’t know anybody.”

“You’re not boring! Darling…” Mettaton scooted a little closer to Papyrus, gazing at him. He studied the skeleton’s face, fascinated by the intricate contours and textures in his skull and how it rippled and changed with the skeleton’s moods—so different from the sleek, polished, impeccably sculpted work of engineering genius that was his own face. “You don’t know how intriguing you are. Especially up close.”

“Oh. Oh wow…”

“Also, Papyrus, I know you think I’m a  _ huge  _ star but really, I’m not, not any more.”

“You are too a star!”

“To the monsters I’m a star and everybody watches everything I do. To the humans...I’m an unknown at best, a freakish novelty at worst. Do you know what the grand total of my exposure in human media has been so far? Three radio interviews and a five-minute spot on a local morning show where they did nothing but pester me with impertinent questions about my fashion sense and about whether I was actually male or not.” Mettaton smiled at Papyrus. “You’ve done better than I have, you know. You’ve made public appearances, standing alongside Queen Toriel! Humans seem to like you.”

“Wow, do you think so, Mettaton?” Papyrus brightened.

“I do.” Now it was Mettaton’s turn to get bashful. “And I...I think I like you too, Papyrus.”

Even in the darkened room Mettaton could tell the skeleton’s cheekbones were flushed bright red. “...you do?” Papyrus eventually asked in a tiny voice.

“I do, Papyrus. Because you’ve been so gentle and forgiving. Because you’ve been trying so hard to do the right things. I feel like I can be honest with you, like I don’t have to be ‘on’ all the time, and you’ll still listen.”

“...wow,” Papyrus whispered. He let go of Mettaton’s hand so he could roll onto his side, facing him. “May I hug you, Mettaton?”

Mettaton reached up a hand, touching his metal fingertips to the skeleton’s cheekbone. “Any time, Papyrus.”

Tentatively Papyrus curled his free arm around Mettaton’s waist and pulled him closer, until their faces were inches apart and he could feel the skeleton’s sternum pressing against his chest. Mettaton shuddered at the delicate sensation of Papyrus’s bony fingertips skimming ever so lightly over the touch-sensitive plating of his back, sending an electric thrill through his wiring. Mettaton in turn wrapped his arm around Papyrus’s body, his fingers running over the ridges and valleys of the skeleton’s spine underneath the fabric of his shirt, prompting Papyrus to utter a little squeak of pleasure. They held each other for many minutes, lightly touching and caressing each other’s bodies, before Papyrus reluctantly broke the embrace.

“Wow,” he said, his voice pitched rather higher than normal.

“Feeling better, darling?” Mettaton asked.

“Yes, Mettaton, I feel  _ great!  _ Oh, wowie...I can’t believe the star of  _ Cooking with a Killer Robot _ actually hugged me…”

Mettaton giggled. “Maybe I should have you on that show soon.”

“Oh, gosh! Do you think my cooking is that good?”

“Papyrus, darling...your cooking needs a lot of work.”

“Aww….” Papyrus grew momentarily glum, but then he cheered up again. “Well, I guess it’ll keep me busy, working on improving my cooking!”

“That’s the spirit, darling!” They shared a laugh, then went back to contemplating the ceiling together. “Oh, Papyrus, I’ve so missed doing this with someone special.”

A pleasant shiver passed over Papyrus when he heard the words “someone special”, and he squeezed Mettaton’s hand in his. “Do you still do this with Napstablook? Now that you’re reunited?”

“Oh, once in a while! Blooky still needs the comfort sometimes. Not as much as they once did, though.” Mettaton grew wistful. “So often I used to find them lying alone on the floor in the dark, sad, crying sometimes, telling me that they felt like garbage. I’d lie next to them so they’d know that they weren’t alone. Sometimes we’d just lie there, not talking, not doing anything, just...being together. Other times I’d tell Blooky about all the fascinating things that Alphys was teaching me about the Overworld, about the Surface, and especially about the sky, the  _ real _ sky, and everything you could see in it. She’d show me pictures from her collection of human books, pictures of stars and planets and galaxies and comets and everything else, and I’d try to describe them to Blooky as we lay together, so we could try to imagine what the night sky would look like if we could see it for ourselves.” Mettaton rested his head against Papyrus’s clavicle. “Who ever thought we’d soon find out? But you know what, Papyrus? I still prefer the sky I saw in my imagination. It was more colorful. More... _ fabulous. _ ”

The two of them lay there for a while, hand in hand, sometimes rubbing gently against each other, but mostly they lay quietly, eyes closed, imagining a sky studded not with thousands of stars but with millions, with nebulae and galaxies in every conceivable size and shade of color.

The shrilling of Mettaton’s phone shattered the mood. Annoyed, he retrieved it from his thigh and answered, still lying down. “Who is it  _ now... _ oh, god…I’m sorry, Papyrus dear, but I have to take this.”

“It’s all right, Mettaton,” said Papyrus, utter contentment in his voice as he rested his skull on Mettaton’s shoulder-plate.

“This had better be good. Hello?...Aaron, baby, why are you calling me right now? I told you I was going on a date….Can’t this wait till tomorrow morning?...What do you mean it can’t?...” Mettaton groaned. “They canceled? What,  _ all _ of them? Aaron, you must be joking...What was their excuse?! Did they give a good reason?...Hm, that’s actually a pretty good reason. So now we have to line up some replacement contestants. Can’t the associate producer do it?...Oh, that’s very flattering of you, Aaron. I’d take that as a compliment if I weren’t so pissed off. I’ll have you know that you interrupted a  _ very _ good time...That’s none of your damn business!...All right, all right, I’ll be back at the studio within the hour. See you then, Aaron...” Mettaton disconnected before finishing his sentence. “...you horse-faced hypocrite.” He swiveled his head toward Papyrus again. “Darling, I’m really sorry. Tomorrow’s quiz show is falling apart and apparently only  _ I  _ have the connections and the persuasiveness to save it, or so I am informed. I hope you’re not mad.”

“No,” said Papyrus, a great smile on his face and a warm glow in his eyes. “You’re a beautiful star, Mettaton. I don’t mind that you have to go do what beautiful stars have to do to shine.”

“Why...Papyrus...that’s uncommonly lyrical of you. Thank you.” He leaned in to press his metal lips to Papyrus’s cheekbone. The skeleton squeaked again and blushed more furiously red than ever. Then Mettaton jumped to his feet, pulling Papyrus up by the hand. “We’ll do this again soon, I promise.”

“Did you…” Papyrus said in a small, shy voice. “Did you really mean that? About having a good time?”

“Yes, darling. One of the best.”

“Wowie…I...I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s no need for words, Papyrus.” He bussed Papyrus on the cheekbone again. With that he walked to the front door, Papyrus following. He retrieved his soiled magenta coat; Papyrus cringed a little at the sight of it again but Mettaton forestalled him with a raised hand and a smile. “It’s just a coat, darling. I’ll get it dry-cleaned and it’ll be as good as ever.”

Papyrus gave Mettaton a long parting hug. “Good night, Mettaton. Good luck with your show.”

Mettaton struck a provocatively leggy pose and treated Papyrus to a come-hither stare. “Good night, darling. You’ve been a lovely audience.” Then he was out the door and gone.

Papyrus looked around his now empty apartment and sighed. Dutifully he went through his evening rounds: cleaning up after dinner, scraping the uneaten fettuccine into a container to stash in the fridge, trashing his ruined dessert quiche, washing and putting away dishes. Then he went back to his bedroom. He almost went straight to his racecar bed but, on impulse, he laid himself down on the floor again and closed his eyes, and imagined.

He imagined the nightly firmament again, as he had been envisioning it before, a celestial vault such as he would never see in the Overworld: glittering with millions of stars, glowing with thousands of galaxies and nebulae in every imaginable color. But now amid the splendor, shaped from the light of innumerable stars glowing pink and silver-white, shone the magnificent figure of Mettaton, the brightest constellation in Papyrus’s sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with a cleansing emotional catharsis, a bit of snuggling, and a quote from "Citizen Kane" thrown in for good measure, I leave Mettaton and Papyrus to a happy future together.
> 
> Though I have to admit that if I peg anyone in the "Undertale" Universe as not likely to stick to a strictly monoamorous relationship, it's got to be Mettaton.


End file.
